The Chessboard Sea
by heartslogos
Summary: There is a King, the world is his chessboard. He has a sea of pawns as far as the eye can see. The rules of the game are wild and dangerous. The pawns are deceptive and deadly. And he watches with the face of a child. He is king.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji. All italics in parentheses are quotes.**

There is a king nested within the poisonous, glass heart of London.

Many never see him; they never get past his chessboard. His chessboard of pawns stretches for as far as the British empire does, his chessboard is the land of the never setting sun. His power is terrifying in its scope, its depth.

This chessboard, this game, is so strange. It plays by so many rules that it's hard to comprehend, but once a person masters the rules they realize just how far into the danger and darkness he's entrenched himself. Sometimes the chess game is crazy house style, capturing and turning enemy pawns and opponents. Sometimes its absorption style and a meaningless pawn whirls with the ferocity of a captured queen. Sometimes it's on the fence; a person's pawns may or not fall into enemy arms, arimaa style.

He has a sea of pawns that reaches as far as the eye can see.

Some of these pawns are simple pawns. They are as they appear.

A childish, happy girl with sunshine-spun hair and deep gem eyes of green. A simple girl of simple pleasures, a noble, a girl, and completely besotted with one person and consumed with a need to please him (_I will dress stylishly with all my might too!)._ A smile as wide and bright as the horizon and just as cheerful as the sun itself, Elizabeth Middleford appears as Elizabeth Middleford.

Then there are other pawns, that are a little more dangerous because they are so _wild_ but are otherwise harmless –that is, if you know how to work around their eccentric antics-.

These are the pawns like the Prince and the Hand of God. They are foreign, unfamiliar, unsure, and uncertain. The only certainty they hold is their loyalty to the king of the board. They are dangerous because what they can do, what they can't, what they will, what they won't do, is unknown, changing, and random.

Going past those there are even more dangerous pawns than them. There are the pawns that you realize are very _dangerous._ It isn't a subtle feeling, it isn't a hunch, a gut feeling, it's a definite and primal _fear._

There is the opium master –the seller of dreams (_…There are people who can't survive because of the cruelty of reality. I sell those people dreams)_- of the underground who weeds out the mice of the city with his cat (_I've got to exterminate the bad rats infesting my city, don't I? So I keep a cat) _.

There are various barons of the underground who bow to his whims. They are loyal out of fear and hate _(You vulture!)_. As they say, it is better to be feared than loved. The prince knows this well. The King carries this lesson in his sapphire gem. He knows the price of this fear, this power (_Something lost can never return)._

Then there are the pawns that you are unsure of, you know they are _dangerous and deadly_, and they _disturb_ your very heart, but you don't know why. They are not of this world. He sprinkles these pawns around his chessboard liberally. They come and go as they please but they are always, always dangerous and deadly.

There is a silver-haired man hiding in the dark. He laughs and is always eager to pluck off those not worthy of the King's attentions, if only because their physical properties amuse him. This one is on the fence, an arimaa style piece. Is he, or is he not on the King's board? Perhaps he is the one playing them all. Perhaps not. Maybe that is what makes him dangerous, this wild uncertainty about him. He is an outside advisor, powerful in his independence and vague persona. He knows. (_I know why you came, with just one look I can tell what's on your mind.)_

Then there is a red-haired blood soaked devil with razor teeth, smiling and buzzing. Two sets of teeth, this one has. One for smiling and taunting and biting, the other for shredding and impaling. He is dangerous. Dangerous not because of his bloodlust, but that does add to it, but because of his twisted perception. He serves not the King, but the King's shadow (_I am the butler of death!)._ Which is dangerous because you will never see the orders given to this one, predicting the King, watching and observing him will not help with this killer, this shark.

Once a person gets past these pawns there are the select pawns. These pawns that seem so innocent and harmless but are on the inside just as dangerous (if not more so) than the dream seller and the silver-haired man.

The woman with eyes of a hawk behind silver glass orbs, the woman with the reflexes of a master behind the guise of a clumsy maid. The hawk hiding within a mouse (_It's useless. A tiny mouse can run anywhere, but they are always within my sight.)_. This one is bound by loyalty, a debt of such depths it can never be repaid. It is a debt of love and devotion, of salvation.

There is a man, a brilliant and fierce tactician or extraordinary capabilities who guises himself as a man who cannot even bake bread. A soldier playing house, waiting for the opportunity to strike, that is what this one is. This soldier is bound to the King through debt as well. The King has salvaged this man from the nadir of humanity's hunger violence _(I've gotta to get used to it, this feeling of peace.)._

There is also a gardener of uncontrollable tolerance and monstrous strength. His face is just as innocent and bright as Elizabeth Middleford's, it is also just as honest. It is no front. It is the truth, the simple naive truth that this boy –man, boy, what is he, his soul says boy, the things he has experienced says man (_'Treat them kindly', huh? Before I came here, I don't think I would have understood)_- is loyal to the King out of the childish love of a hero. This boy loves his master, as an animal companion loves their master, as a boy loves his brother.

Then there is a pit of Snakes that one must cross in order to reach the King. A pit of snakes of every color, size, variety, and danger. This pawn is the latest addition in the game of crazy house chess. Devoured whole into the crazy house indeed, he was rescued from the terror of human isolation (_It's lonely being by yourself)_ and thrown into a world of pomp, glamour, and warmth. It is pseudo warmth, but to one who has never known warmth it is indeed a wonderful image and sensation.

There are those who get passed these pawns, and see the King, the boy upon a throne of bones.

He picks flesh from corpses of enemies and pawns alike from under his throne. He picks their flesh for all that they're worth. His throne teeters and totters but he sprawls across it, the image of effortless control.

He is a _boy_. There are those who are angered by this (_You stupid brat!)_ and there are those who are stunned.

It is because he is a boy he is dangerous, a boy king. Boy Kings are dangerous, history has proved this time and time again. Oh, they don't last long, children leaders, but while they are in power they are dangerous. King Edward, Ivan of Russia, there are several examples of young leaders, powerful, dangerous, with a legacy that long outlives them.

Those who meet him understand his power.

Why he is so strong.

He is beautiful, ethereal; perhaps because his life is fleeting he is beautiful. His single blue orb, as deep as the sea and as vast as the sky he is so appropriately named for is cold and burning and shocking. It's too many sensations at once and it captivates. And it's only a glimpse of one eye. He is like a drug.

His skin is pale, his hair is ashen. He is a picture of a delicate King. But he is ruthless. Children are dangerous, especially when it comes to games (_Yes, 'kids' have a great greed for games.)_.

Then he speaks. As soon as he speaks people are enraptured, trapped, they realize that there is substance to beauty and that substance is dangerous. It's just as dreamy and disillusioning as the opium kept by the dream seller, just as convincing as the honest Elizabeth's and just as compelling and mysterious as the silver-haired mortician's.

He orders these pawns ruthlessly with the goal of winning in mind. He holds himself above them, but he knows the truth of his weakness (_I'm human!)_. Perhaps that is what makes him a good King, a strong King, a powerful King.

A dangerous King.

There are those who do not realize it until it is too late. He has distanced his pawns as far away as possible. And he disappears.

The King with a chessboard as far as the eye can see, and a sea of pawns stretching just as far disappears in smoke. His throne avalanches down a pile of bones and dust, clattering to the stone floor.

He leaves in a swirl of shadow. His final piece, his personal pawn, the pawn that never leaves his side (but can _get across the whole board in one move_) moves with him.

The final pawn that many do not see until it is too late, the most frequently used pawn, the strongest pawn, the pawn with crimson eyes that eats away at the King with every move carries him away.

The other half of his shadow, his brilliance. A crimson –just as deep as the sea and as dark as the shadows, blood red like the liquid that flows from his enemies- sears behind a violent contract.

The end of a glorious game.

A suspension.

The King leaves, he is no longer the King. The pawn escorts him from the board, the court, into the graveyard. Who has won? Who knows? The pawns are lost, bereft, they mourn and wonder what to do with themselves.

They cannot move back, but how to proceed forward?

_(If there is but even a little thread to use for escape to the depths of despair, I will simply hold on to it. That is the ability of humans. But it is their choice, whether to grab it or not.)_

So they move on, not quite certain if what they experienced was a dream or nightmare, if the game has ended or is merely on hold. They wait.

He returned once.

He should return again. Perhaps? No? Yes? They hope and cling to that thread of warmth, love, loyalty, fear. Some are afraid, looking over their shoulders and uncertain. Others search, spreading out farther and farther to find him.

But his one pawn, he stays by his side.

_(If it's your wish I will follow you everywhere. Even if your throne crumbles and your shiny crown turns to rust. Beside you as you lie, softly down, I will be. Until I hear the words, 'check mate')._

The game has not ended.

(_Let us go to the place…)_


End file.
